Axel set his glass down with a soft clink, his hand sliding to the marble countertop, close enough that the heat of his body teased my bare leg.
My skin tingled, every nerve straining toward him. His gaze dipped slowly as he caged me in without touching. The quiet thrum of the refrigerator was the only sound.
I swallowed hard. What is he doing?
His fingers flexed against the stone, so close I could feel the heat radiating off his skin. He wasn't drunk. No, not completely. But it looked like he was testing me, gauging the air between us, waiting for me to flinch.
But I didn't.
Then his hand slid casually, almost lazily, until his knuckles brushed against my bare thigh.
My breath hitched.
I should've pushed him away, and reminded him of all the rules he'd laid down — one that he was breaking. But instead, I found myself shifting closer, arching into the heat of his touch as if it were my salvation. Deny it all I liked, but I wanted him. That much was obvious.
